


Palliative

by perletwo



Category: The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Gen, avengers_tables
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-19
Updated: 2012-02-19
Packaged: 2017-10-31 23:00:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 950
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/349293
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/perletwo/pseuds/perletwo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>what Coulson does when he can't sleep. Done for the "hobbies" Coulson prompt at avengers_tables on LJ.</p>
    </blockquote>





	Palliative

**Author's Note:**

> what Coulson does when he can't sleep. Done for the "hobbies" Coulson prompt at avengers_tables on LJ.

David Greenwood was _tired._ He knew parenthood would be difficult, he knew it would be exhausting. But nothing had even come close to preparing him for _this._

When his wife Anita went into labor nine weeks early, the only thing either of them could feel was sheer stark terror, and that coupled with adrenaline and gallons of very bad coffee had fueled them ever since. John Jacob Greenwood weighed in at three pounds, eight ounces at birth and spent his first month of life in an incubator, like a baby chick. Now at five pounds J.J. was in an isolette, but every day was a struggle, and the NICU staff gave no hint that they might be taking him home anytime soon.

While making a wee hours of the morning run for more of the bad coffee, David couldn’t help but take a quick detour to peek in the NICU. J.J. might be tiny, but damn if his son wasn’t _beautiful,_ and neither of his parents could resist any chance to drink in the sight.

But with terror a constant buzz in his ears and sleep a distant memory, David wasn’t prepared for the sight of a stranger handling his baby.

A bland-looking man in suit slacks and a wrinkled dress shirt, sandy hair receding from a brow creased with worry lines, an aquiline nose and gentle smile held J.J. to his chest and walked a few steps to and fro with him, talking to him softly. The lines of his face were softened with contentment, and J.J. seemed to hold all his attention.

David cleared his throat. “Scuse me. Who are you and what the hell are you doing with _my son_?” he demanded, voice low so as not to wake the baby.

The man looked up, smiling more broadly. “Oh, hi. I’m Phil. I’m a volunteer cuddler.”

David shook his head, trying to clear the fog from his brain. “That – you – oh. Right. They told us about this. People come and just, like, hold the babies? So we parents can get a break?”

“A little more than that – we’re supposed to engage their attention, the whole sensory stimulation thing. Talk to them, and I took a course in infant massage,” Phil said, shrugging. “But that’s basically the idea.”

David took a step closer and ran a fingertip down his son’s soft cheek. “I thought it was all just, like, little old ladies from the hospital auxiliary. Do you work here?”

Phil chuckled, once, dryly. “No, I don’t. I’m a civil servant. With a completely demented schedule and high stress levels. And I’ve got insomnia on top of that. So when I heard about this and talked to the hospital, I volunteered to be the one coming in at all the bizarre hours of the night, since my circadian rhythm is all screwed up and these little guys don’t really _have_ them.”

J.J. made a coughing giggle, and Phil rocked him a bit on his shoulder. David grinned, and Phil lifted the baby a few inches off his shoulder. “You want to take him? I’m sure they’ve got somebody else who could use my company…”

David took the baby, and Phil chuckled for real, watching a wave of baffled, exhausted joy wash over his face. “Nothing else quite like it, is there?”

“I had _no_ idea,” David admitted sheepishly. “You got kids? That how you got into this?”

Phil inclined his head at the unspoken _you’re not some kind of perv, are you_ subtext.

“Yes and no. Many many decades ago, back when I was 17 and stupid, my high school girlfriend got pregnant and we got married,” he explained. “She went into labor at six months. The baby didn’t make it, but the few weeks we had him were the most – intense -” He looked away, drew a breath. “And I’ve walked around with a little permanent hole in my heart ever since, about _this_ big -” his hands described a sphere about the size of a baseball, “- and when I read a newspaper article about this volunteer cuddler thing, I knew it was just the perfect thing for me.”

“Your wife do it too?” David shifted the baby a little closer to his chest.

“Oh. No. No wife, no kids, no pets. Marriage fell apart after the baby died, best thing probably, did I mention we were young and stupid? Then I got into a committed relationship with the toughest _paying_ job you’ll ever love, and that’s been that.”

He reached out, adjusted the tiny watch cap on J.J.’s head. “They’ve got volunteers who make these things, and I’d do that if I knew how or had the time, but I don’t. And I give money to the hospital, of course. But it seems like the best thing I can do is just, you know, show up and _be_ here.”

They turned their heads at the sound of a soft thin cry, and with a shrug, he turned for the door. “Sounds like I’ve got another customer.”

“Hey.” Phil turned back. “Anything, umm, we can do for you? Like, a thank-you?”

Phil tilted his head, considering. “You’re wearing a cross. You religious?”

“Yeah but no, but – yeah, kinda,” David stammered. “I mean, we’re way out of practice, but we been really jammin’ the Big Guy’s hotline the last few weeks, you know?”

“Oh yeah, I know.” Phil grinned. “If you can spare a prayer for Myles Coulson every now and then when you think about it, that’ll do just fine.”

David smiled. “Will do,” he said absently, lost in his baby’s eyes again.

Phil smiled and slipped back into the NICU ward.


End file.
